Pity the living
by eos9
Summary: Battle of Hogwarts; End of DH; A triptych of loss: Molly, Percy, George.
1. Boggart

Molly never saw their bodies... Gideon's or Fabian's...

.

She wasn't at the attack where they lost their lives, and no one wanted to "burden" her with any grisly details. One day, they simply stopped existing. Her newborn daughter barely a week old, and there would be no more surprise visits with flowers or toys or candy. At least they got to meet their new niece—see how beautiful she was. It hurt her—Merlin, every day it hurt her that Gid and Fab never got to watch them grow up, and even more that to her younger children—Fred, George, Ron, Ginny—Molly's brothers were nothing more than dusty old clock hands in a drawer.

.

.

When she thought of her brothers, it was always the not seeing, the not knowing that haunted Molly. Instead of a single truth, her imagination conjured hundreds, thousands of graphic and horrific scenes in which Gideon and Fabian could have "died like heroes". Since 1981, her boggart had remained unchanged— it was always from that point on a shifting cycle of murder, drawn from her imagination's very own torturous pensieve.

.

Molly had thought that if she had just been able to touch them one last time, if she had been part of the fight, that their deaths would have been easier.

.

.

Looking down in her arms at her son's pale body and frozen smile, she knew that she had been wrong.


	2. To be found wanting

_A name a name a name  
_

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_It was in his ears, a rushing bleary hum, like coming into London from the silent countryside of the Burrow._

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In another life, he had wanted to be like Bill.

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_It was in his chest, a pounding counterpoint to his heartbeat._

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He had wanted to be Bill, but better—all of Bill's achievements without his rebellion. Someone his mother would be proud of.

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_It was pressure in his eardrums, in his sinuses, leaving him unsteady, dizzy, disorientated._

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In another life, he had wanted to be like his father.

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_It was... Oh merlin!_

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Like his father, but better—all of his father's character and stability without his complacency.

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He had wanted

.

_a name  
_

_._

_a name  
_

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He wanted to be a role model to his younger brothers

.

_a name  
_

.

—someone they could look up to who was still at home, and still close enough in age to understand their troubles and point them in the right direction.

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_It was choking him, filling his nostrils._

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He wanted to be his sister's hero and protector.

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_He didn't even know where she was._

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_Help him help him help save him_

_._

_Please Merlin save him!_

_.  
_

...

...

...

They say your life flashes before your eyes...

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He was a prefect. 5th Year. 6th Year. Ron. Ginny. Hospital beds. Shaking and blood. He was helpless. He did nothing. Nothing.

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He was Head Boy and there was a knife and his brother (his brother) and there were whispers in the night of claws and teeth and only later...

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His fault his fault his fault. He was six and Bill was at school and Charlie was sulking and the twins were always ruining everything and he had just wanted a friend but they couldn't afford a puppy like he asked and his fault and his fault.

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He was grown up and wrong and old and young but he could fix it and believed the wrong right people believed what he wanted to make them safe safe safe.

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He failed. Over and over again in everything he did, he was a failure. Every second and third and fourth chance he failed. _But he wouldn't fail at this_.

.

...

...

...

Harry Potter tried to take _(a name)_ away from him. He knew the boy was shouting something at him, but there was no sound anymore—only the cooling weight in his arms. Potter wanted him to leave _(a name)_, but he wouldn't. He needed to protect him—keep him safe. He wouldn't fail this. He couldn't.

But then Potter was picking _(a name)_ up and suddenly the sound came back and without his volition his arms were helping Potter, following him, carrying _(a name)_'s bo... carrying _(a name)_ and placing him in an alcove.

As he gave chase to Rookwood, he...

.

_It had been his intent to hold onto _ forever_

_but he wasn't anymore_

_his arms were empty- cold and straight and holding his wand out and_

_._

___(a name)_

_._

_a name  
_

_._

Fred.

_._

_..._

_..._

_...  
_

_He had left him. He was supposed to keep guarding him but he left he left he left_

_he failed._

_._

_Fault and Failure and Falling_

_failure he failed he fell fred fell at his fault._

_._

There was nothing left for him but the familiar taste of ashes in his mouth.


	3. White

_If his eyes had been closed, he could have been sleeping._

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What was he supposed to do with all this stuff? He didn't want it, but he needed it, and he didn't need it, but he wanted it. He wished Lee would show up already, even at the same time that he wished he never had to talk to anyone ever again.

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They had never been as interconnected as "the trio". Lee was just a good friend. But he guessed that was as good as things were ever going to be, now.

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The silence was maddening. Sure, he knew that outside, that everywhere there was some sort of... busyness, but it was always silent for him now. There was probably an ear joke in there somewhere...

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See... the good thing... the great thing about... about being part of a duo was duality. Other people always had theirs internally. Hell, look at Harry. But when there's two of you, it's more... pure, pristine... concentrated. Because the duality's external, you know? You each play a role—heads and tails.

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He never realised it was so difficult to make decisions. How does everyone else cope? The inside of his head was nothing but conflict in the big wide silent emptiness.

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Empty-headed. He was sure there was a joke in there somewhere. But he was only half, now. And the only emptiness he could be decisive on—where he really knew what was up and what was down—was how empty blue could be.

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And he wished they had been closed, and that he could have pretended, believed just for a moment in spite of the neverending white inside of him, that he was just sleeping, with a big smile on his face.

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Must have been one hell of a dream.


End file.
